


(don't) say no to this

by manaketeprince



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-typical swearing, Emetophobia, First Kiss, Hangover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manaketeprince/pseuds/manaketeprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set sometime between seasons 1-9, before the apartment burns down. A typical Tuesday night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(don't) say no to this

It was a position they had found themselves in before: Dennis knelt hunched over the toilet, gripping the sides with white-knuckled hands, and Mac sat perched on the edge of the bathtub with one hand placed reassuringly (but carefully) on his shoulder. After more than twenty years together, the routine was familiar to all of them, perhaps more familiar than they cared to admit.

Mac wrinkled his nose as Dennis coughed and sputtered into the toilet bowl. The sound of throwing up always made the bile rise in his own throat, but even the threat of vomiting wasn’t enough to get him to leave the room.

(The first time he had tried, a hazy memory of high school parties, Dennis had grabbed his wrist as he stood and begged him with tear-stained eyes to stay. Even then he couldn’t resist giving the other man anything he asked.)

“Fuck,” Dennis muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His mascara was beginning to run down his cheeks. “I’m too old for this shit.”

Mac snorted halfheartedly, but otherwise ignored him. He wasn’t quite as far gone, but he was still far drunker than he should have been on a Tuesday night in his late thirties. Dennis hummed quietly as Mac began to rub his back slowly. 

“Thanks for-”

The sentence was punctuated by another acrid cough.

“-thanks for watching over me.”

“It’s my job, bro,” Mac said softly, placing a damp washcloth on Dennis’ forehead in an effort to calm him down. “We look out for each other.”

“We look out for each other,” Dennis repeated, sitting back on his heels and letting Mac wipe down his face and neck. He snickered, the sound low and guttural in his rough throat. “It’s like a fucking Lifetime movie. Some fucked-up rom-com we would make.”

Mac bit his lip to keep his mouth shut, tossing the washcloth back into the sink. “Let’s get you to bed, Den,” he said after a long pause, ruffling his friend’s hair and standing shakily. Dennis grabbed his outstretched hand and hauled himself up unsteadily, grabbing tightly at Mac’s waist to keep them both upright. Using the wall as a guide, the two slowly made their way back to Dennis’ bedroom, where Mac sat him gently on the edge of the bed before pulling a trashcan up next to the sheets. If Mac were any less drunk, he would’ve left Dennis to pass out curled up on their shower mat with a towel for a pillow, but his hazy mind had too much pity to abandon him.

Dennis’ hand had trailed away from Mac’s waist and had come to grip his own hand firmly, tugging him down towards the bed. “Don’t wanna be alone,” he mumbled, but Mac was already climbing in next to him. It was an unspoken rule that they never left the other alone like this; tonight would just become another night they never discussed in the morning. Dennis was affectionate in these quiet moments, just the two of them alone in the predawn darkness. Mac lifted his arm and Dennis instinctively snuggled into the space created, throwing one arm over Mac’s chest and winding their legs together. Mac loved the nights he got to fall asleep listening to Dennis’ breathing slow, with the scent of his shampoo strong in his nose, though he would never admit it sober. Dennis seemed to know anyway and pulled him even closer.

Closing his eyes only made him dizzier, so Mac stared at what he could see of the ceiling in the darkened room and tried to control his own breathing. His racing heart was beating right in Dennis’ ear, his friend’s head rising and falling with his uneven breaths. From what he could tell, Dennis had already fallen into a drunken sleep in the thirty seconds since he lay down.

(Thank God, he thought. Dennis was so perceptive when he was awake Mac was convinced he could read his mind. If Dennis could hear his thoughts right now he’d smirk in that smug way he always did when he had Mac cornered, and Mac would blush and give himself away. Dennis would laugh his annoying laugh and Mac would pout and it would be the same as it always has been, with Dennis in control and Mac left floundering in his wake.)

When he was sober, Dennis hated any sort of cuddling. He and Mac had shared a bed out of necessity many times, and he always insisted on facing away from him, practically on the edge of the bed so he could barely feel Mac moving behind him. When he was drunk, though, Dennis clung to Mac wherever he went, often insisting on sleeping in the same bed as him. They had held hands walking back from the bar earlier that night; Mac had said it was just for safety, to make sure neither of them fell over, and that was partially true. Mostly it was because Dennis had took his hand to drag him off the barstool and out the door, and Mac couldn’t find it in him to let go.

Mac was equally cuddly sober and drunk, and never complained when Dennis followed him into bed. He would just lift up his arm and let his friend rest his head on his chest, the same position they had always slept in, with Mac’s arms wrapped securely around Dennis’s body and their legs tangled together under the comforter. There was spilled beer on his shirt, and Dennis’s breath smelled like vomit and cigarette smoke, but they lay there in their shared mess as Mac watched the sky grow lighter through the cracks in his blinds.

“Mac,” Dennis mumbled, tightening his grip on Mac’s ribs. 

“It’s okay, Den,” he whispered. “I’m right here.” He pressed his lips to the crown of Dennis’s head: not quite a kiss, but close.

“It’s okay,” Dennis repeated quietly, relaxing his grip. 

“I should tell you to get the fuck out,” Mac said, lying back so he could stare at the shadows on the ceiling.

“But you won’t.”

“No, I won’t.”

“You like it when I stay.”

“I have to look after you,” Mac told him, lowering his face again so his nose was buried in Dennis’s dark curls. “I have to make sure you’re okay.”

Mac thought he imagined a “thank you” slipping from Dennis’s lips. He had been wrong about this before, and he kept his mouth shut firmly and bit his lip to keep the words from spilling out.

“I said thank you, asshole,” Dennis grunted after Mac said nothing.

“You’re welcome, dickhead,” Mac shot back. Sometimes he meant it. More often than not he didn’t.

Mac finally drifted off as the sun was rising, too tired and drunk to notice.

-

 

Mac and Dennis slept through both of their alarms the next morning. It wasn’t until three in the afternoon that the sun finally fell exactly across Mac’s face and he was forced awake by the blinding light. 

Dennis was still sleeping soundly on his chest, angular face softened by the fractured light. He looked younger when he slept, less angry somehow, like the world hadn’t chipped away at his personality until there was nothing but edges left.

“Wake up, Den,” Mac muttered, tapping him gently on the shoulder. “I think we slept through work.”

Dennis groaned loudly and squeezed his eyes shut. “Too loud,” he mumbled, stirring a bit and burying his face in Mac’s neck. Mac swore he could feel his lips brush over his pulse: he stiffened, feeling all the blood rush to his face.

“Come on, we should get up. Charlie and Dee are probably waiting for us.”

“Fuck them,” Dennis whispered, inches from Mac’s ear. “They can wait.”

The pair lay in silence for a few minutes more; Mac closed his eyes again, and started to relax again until he thought he could get back to sleep despite the sunlight.

“Sorry,” Dennis said quietly.

Mac’s eyes flew open. Dennis never let himself get this vulnerable, and he certainly never apologized for anything. 

“I was a fucking mess last night,” he continued. “So, uh, thanks for taking care of me, I guess.”

“It’s nothing,” Mac said, turning his head to look him in the eyes. “I always look after you.”

“You do,” Dennis said with a smile, barely quirking his lips up at the corners. This smile was genuine, not one of his many forced emotions; Mac could see it reach his cornflower-blue eyes as they sparkled a bit in the sunlight. It was rare to see Dennis this calm, and it was only ever when they were alone. Mac was secretly a little proud he got what scant positive attention Dennis was willing to give, and he smiled at the thought.

(If Mac were a little bit less hungover, he probably would have backed out of the bed by now. There was definitely something gay about lying in bed with your best friend, facing each other so your noses were almost touching, smiling stupidly as you look into his icy blue eyes and put your hand over his. Hungover Mac, however, was much less sensible than Sober Mac, and seemed to not have much of a problem with it. Hungover Mac took those thoughts and shoved them into the back of his mind where he could deal with it later at confession.)

(Lord, show me how to say no to this, Sober Mac was screaming behind the headache and the nausea.)

Mac doesn’t say no to this.

It’s significantly harder to rationalize, in Mac’s gay-panicked mind, leaning forward and kissing said best friend gently on his chapped lips, lying in bed together in the mid-afternoon with hands linked together above the comforter. It’s worse knowing that Dennis won’t have that same emotional turmoil, that inner battle he’s been trying to repress for years. No, Dennis will get up to take a shower and grin and leave Mac behind in his wake to tear out his hair when he kneels to pray before bed.

Mac kisses Dennis like he worships him every Sunday on his knees. Dennis kisses Mac and whispers “fucking finally” against his lips as they briefly pull apart.


End file.
